


Somewhere Only We Know

by planarities



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Mission Gone Wrong, Undercover as a Couple, flirting in the middle of life-threatening situations, some angst down the road
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planarities/pseuds/planarities
Summary: When a straightforward extraction mission turns into a dangerous pursuit of two kidnapped Americans halfway across Venezuela, they have only each other to rely on if they want to make it out alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I really wasn't planning on letting this show take over my life in such a short period of time, and yet here we are.  
> 

 

_20 miles east of the Colombian border, Venezuela_

_Wednesday_

 

'Remind me, Top,' McG asks as the battered van jounces along the road, 'what were those kids even doing in Venezuela? Wasn't the whole country proclaimed a no-go zone?'

From her spot in the corner, Hannah adds, 'What I'd love to know is what they were doing so close to the Colombian border.'

The whole team looks to Adam for an answer, and he sighs. He's had several hours to wonder what made two twenty-year old American students get themselves kidnapped in Venezuela, but so far hasn't come up with anything more believable than the story sold to him by Command. He rubs his face, 'Sightseeing, apparently.'

His teammates' skeptical expressions confirm his own suspicions, but in the end the mission remains unchanged. They're here to get those two guys safe onto American soil. If it turns out they got themselves into this mess by trying to buy a bag of weed from a drug lord or something equally idiotic, that's something they'll have to explain once they are safely back home.

Adam turns his thoughts back to the mission ahead. 'Hannah, what are their chances if the cartel is behind this?'

Hannah doesn't even bother answering, fixing him instead with a slightly amused look. He grimaces, figuring that's what he gets for asking stupid questions. Still, he's glad that the former operative joined them today, knowing this mission will be difficult to pull off even with her valuable experience. After all, they have two young Americans stranded in the area swarming with Venezuelan drug traffickers and illegal armed groups, the kind that won't hesitate to shoot a foreigner on sight.

'Alright guys, you know the plan. Get in, grab the kids, get out.'

'That simple, huh?' Jaz smirks, securing another gun on her back.

Adam shrugs, doing one final check of his own equipment. 'Hope dies last.'

'It's also the mother of fools,' Amir deadpans, making both Preach and Jaz chuckle.

Preach takes this as his cue to offer his renowned wisdom from the driver's seat. ' _Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst_.'

Adam smiles, patting Preach's shoulder in agreement just as their beat-up vehicle finally reaches the destination. Taking one final glance at his team, he's pleased to see everyone suited up and eager to roll, waiting on the edge of the seat for his mark.

'Let's go.'

-

Ten minutes and one pretty uneventful venture into the Venezuelan forest later, Adam's frustration is on the rise. The coordinates from which the ransom call was allegedly made has led them to the middle of nowhere. They've scouted the nearby area, and found only a small village inhabited by civilians.

'Let me go talk to them,' Hannah offers, her calculating gaze trained on the small houses peeking through the trees in the distance. 'They could know something.'

McG looks at her, his eyebrows raised. ' _Or_ they could shoot the woman who came out of the woods and started asking questions.'

Hannah dismisses him with a wave of her hand, seemingly unperturbed. 'Sure, or that.'

Despite the obvious flaws in the suggested plan, Adam considers it for a moment before turning to his teammates. 'Preach?'

'I don't like it, but we do have two missing kids and no idea where to start looking for them.'

'Amir?'

Reluctantly, he says, 'Go big or go home?'

Hannah comes directly to Adam to plead her case. 'If we don't do this, we might as well go home. We can't search the whole Andes.'

In the end, Adam has no choice but to agree. 'Alright, here's what we're gonna do.'

-

 _This is a stupid idea,_ Joseph's words ring in her ears as she cautiously approaches the village, all of her senses on high alert. His gaze is burning holes in her back, and despite the irritation at his apparent lack of trust in her abilities, she's glad Adam sent him to have her back as she marches straight into her possible death. Even if he's only dutifully playing the part of a harmless tourist waiting by the road while his girlfriend asks for directions.

Just as she walks up to the nearest house, a middle-aged woman cracks the door open and gives her an uninviting once-over. She demands to know what Hannah wants in sharp Spanish.

And so the dance begins.

It takes a couple of minutes of reassuring smiles and warm words, accompanied by several bills of _bolívares fuertes_ for expressing gratitude, before she and the proud, tough woman amicably part their ways.

The moment Hannah comes back into Joseph's view, she can see a good amount of tension leave his shoulders. After a quick assessment to make sure she's still in one piece, his watchful eyes return to the village behind her back, ready to act at the slightest provocation. It definitely eases her discomfort with turning her back in a dangerous situation, especially one she's facing without any protective gear and just a handgun at her back. The moment she meets up with him, he looks at her expectantly, demanding answers, but she only shakes her head and leads them down the road and back under the cover of the forest, where the team is anxiously waiting.

Adam jumps to his feet when he sees them, and Hannah wastes no time before giving the report. 'The woman sold a car to two young men about three hours ago. She could tell they were foreigners, but they spoke the language, didn't seem to be lost tourists, afraid, or running from anyone. Said she didn't ask any questions because it was none of her business.'

Adam rubs his beard, not liking one bit the way this op continues to complicate. 'She doesn't know anything else?'

'She heard them mention Caracas.'

Preach scoffs. ' _Great_ , the official murder capital.'

Adam ignores his teammates' snickers, musing out loud, 'They want to get away as far as they can from whoever took them and hope they'll find help in an embassies there.'

Jaz shakes her head, her impatience getting the better of her. 'But shouldn't they be scared out of their minds right now? And how do we know they haven't said _let's go to anywhere_ but _Caracas_?'

'We don't,' Preach confirms, and suddenly it feels like they're back to square one.

Adam notices the team's defeated expressions, and knows they have to keep moving. 'Alright, let's get back and hear what Command has to say.'

They follow him in silence through the forest, glad their time out in the open is nearing its end. When their vehicle comes into view, Adam picks up the pace, praying that they'll hear about new developments from D.C.

Several feet behind him, McG groans, suddenly remembering something. 'You said the mission would be simple. Top, you just had to jinx it.'

Adam chuckles, turning his head to answer him, and that's when everything goes _boom_.

-

The ringing in her ears is deafening.

She blinks once, twice, choking at the smoke filling her lungs.

Her palms burn against the gravel road, her muscles give out when she tries to lift herself. Clenching her teeth, she turns her head sideways, the ground scratching her cheek. Her eyes focus on the blurred object beside her, and a strangled noise comes from the back of her throat when she realizes Joseph is lying on his back maybe a foot from her, and he's not moving.

Screams tear through the air, gunshots echoing all around her. She can't recognize anyone through all the smoke and chaos. More gunshots. Joseph is not moving.

 _You have to get up, Hannah, now_.

She pushes off the road, ducking her head when another round of gunshots erupts somewhere on her left.

The ground is still shaking from the explosion, though that may just be her unsteady feet. She half stumbles half crawls to Joe's side and starts dragging him towards the treeline, desperate to find cover. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out, the exertion ruthless on her aching body. He's so stupidly tall and heavy, but he's still not moving, and she can't see anyone else from the team.

She takes them into the forest and away from the gunfire, drags him behind a large shrub and collapses on the ground next to him, her scraped palms and knees digging into the dirt. She thinks she hears Adam shouting something on the other side of the road, but when she lifts her gaze he's nowhere to be found. Instead, there are four armed men disappearing behind the trees, probably going after him.

'Fuck.' She turns her attention back to the man lying in front of her, and breathes out in relief when she finds him blinking up at her. 'Joseph, we have to go, now.'

His throat works as he swallows hard, his attempt at sitting up coming up short when he immediately falls back to the ground, clutching his stomach.

'Let me see,' she demands, pushing his hands away, freezing for a split-second when she realizes they are now stained with blood.

Before she gets to ask for instructions, he's already pulling out a knife and cutting off the hem of his shirt, placing the strip of fabric over his stomach with shaky fingers. 'Here, help me tie it around.'

Once the improvised bandage is in place, he raises himself on his elbows to evaluate the situation, his breathing labored. 'What the hell happened?'

'Someone blew up our van.' Not liking the way he winces at the slightest of movements, she yanks on his hair to bring his head closer for inspection, ignoring his protests and checking his pupils. After an unsuccessful attempt to wiggle out of her grasp, he finally stills and lets her do her thing.

As her fingers trace over his scalp in search of potential injuries, he sweeps his gaze over the hostile surroundings. 'Where is everyone?'

'I don't know,' she says, her throat tight. 'They must have been thrown backward by the blast and took cover on the other side.'

Satisfied that there seems to be no life-threatening head trauma, she lets go of him and glances back at the road, the sudden absence of noise and activity making the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

A voice in her head urges her to get moving, aware that every second spent out in the open is a risk they can't afford. Her mind struggling to squash the rising panic, she takes quick stock of the situation. One injured teammate, four missing teammates, and no clue what to do.

Joseph opens his mouth to say something, but gets interrupted by the unmistakable rattling sounds of approaching vehicles. Hannah shoves his chest down and keeps him firmly on the ground, holding his gaze as they both strain their ears to gauge who's coming late to the party.

Hannah risks a glance just in time to see three cars pull up down the road and armed men jump out, gravel crunching under their heavy boots as they point long guns at the tree line on the other side. Hannah's stomach sinks to the ground when one pair of eyes follows the road in the direction of their hideout. Her hand flies to the gun hidden in the waistband of her pants. Heart pounding in her chest, she watches as the man with an unusual scar over the whole left side of his face grabs the attention of four others and motions towards the stretch of woods Hannah and Joseph are currently occupying.

Alright, time to go.

She hovers over Joseph, her voice barely a whisper. 'Can you walk?'

Joseph nods without hesitation, but she doesn't miss his sharp intake of breath when he lifts himself to his elbows again. Unfortunately, there is no time for recuperation, being outmanned and outgunned in a hostile open environment means their only chance is to get the hell out, and do it _now_.

'Good, because we might have to run.'

-

Dry forest gives way to shrubs and grass as they stumble through unfamiliar terrain, relentless sun beating down on them even though it must be late afternoon already.

Hannah seems to believe they lost their pursuers fairly quickly, but she still hasn't stopped for more than few minutes at a time to catch her breath, not taking any chances. Each step brings them further away from their team, and Joe hates how uneasy it makes him feel. However, he has to trust that they can take care of whatever sticky situation they found themselves in, and focus on staying alive himself.

He knows his strength is rapidly declining, and that they won't be able to go on like this for much longer. Hannah has been carrying more and more of his weight without complaint, but her muscles are practically shaking after hours of slow progress in the torrid heat. His eyelids are heavy, begging him to lay down, while pain throbs in his side, deep and warm. From what he can tell, there's a piece of shrapnel embedded just below his kidney, and while he did bind the wound with an improvised bandage, that's pretty much the only thing there is to do until he gets his hands on a first aid kit.

His limbs refuse to cooperate, each step ending up more of a negotiation than an order. He succumbs to the temptation and closes his eyes, just for a moment. Beaded sweat trickles down his forehead, and he swears he can feel salt on his cracked lips, faint wind delivering a whiff of the nearby Caribbean Sea.

Hannah staggers under his weight, and his eyes spring open, any pain he felt immediately overcome by guilt. 'Hannah, we can't-'

'There,' she interrupts him, pointing at something in the distance. He follows her gaze to a group of small houses and what looks like a warehouse, surrounded by palm trees.

Her shoulders lower as she breathes out in relief, and then secures his arm around her shoulders with newfound determination. 'Just hang on a little longer, we're almost there.'

He makes it to the settlement without losing consciousness, and calls it a win. The place is eerily quiet, without a soul in sight. He doesn't know if anyone's living here, and has no particular wish to find out.

Hannah leads them to one of the rusty-looking cars parked on the outskirts of the warehouse, and gets it up and running in record time. She all but shoves him into the passenger seat before rounding the car and slipping in behind the wheel from the other side.

He rests his temple against the window and watches her hot-wire the car with a half amused, half impressed smile. Before he knows it, she's manoeuvring the old vehicle onto the gravel road leading further inland, catching his expression from the corner of her eye. She clears her throat, focus fully on the road. 'We're _borrowing_ it.'

'Sure we are,' he murmurs with a soft smile, severe exhaustion coming up fast and hard. A heavenly sense of calmness takes over him as he relaxes into the worn leather seat, the car shaking with every small bump in the ragged pavement as he gets pulled into blissful darkness.

-

The loud sound of a car door shutting jerks him from slumber just in time to see Hannah settling back into the driver's seat with a bag full of supplies.

'I found you a med kit, but we should get off the street first. I'd rather not learn what's the survival rate of a Colombian woman and an unconscious six-foot-two American in Venezuela after dark.'

A quick glance out of the window confirms that it is indeed getting dark outside. The pain in his side has turned into a dull ache that hurts like a bitch at the slightest movement, and he can only imagine what kind of infection he's risking the longer the wound stays untreated.

Hannah tosses the bag in the back before looking him up and down, checking for any signs of deterioration in his condition. 'Your name?'

He gives her an amused look, but she doesn't back down. 'Humor me.'

He rolls his eyes, but obliges her nonetheless. 'Joseph McGuire, at your service, Ma'am.'

'See? Was that so hard?' She hands him a bottle and he gratefully takes it, gulping down the water in seconds.

His voice is still raspy when he asks, 'Where are we?'

'Just outside Maracaibo,' she says, then reaches for something in her pocket, smiling. 'Look what I got.'

A phone. _Thank God._

Wasting no time, she punches in a number and dials, pressing the phone against her ear as her fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel.

'Noah, it's-'

One sharp breath later, she hangs up and starts taking the phone apart in her hands.

'Hannah, what the-'

She rolls down the car window and throws the parts outside, starts the car and swerves it back onto the deserted road.

Joe tries to sit up straighter in his seat, heart galloping. 'What is going on?'

She clenches her jaw, her anxious gaze never leaving the darkening road in front of them.  'We need to get out of here, now.'

The rising panic in her voice making his blood run cold. 'Why?'

'DIA has been compromised.'

Well, _fuck_.

-

She drives with newfound determination, radio providing a low background noise of muffled voices jerking in and out of connection. She's keeping a watchful eye on the beat-up vehicles passing them by. 'We need to find a place for the night. There's got to be a decent looking _posada_ here somewhere.'

Joe observes the run-down outskirts of Venezuela's second largest city, the typical colorful buildings and palm trees suddenly appearing threatening in the falling darkness. With a roar of the engine a motorcycle overtakes their car, the man on the back blatantly seizing them up before speeding off into the night. Although he knows they're just local punks looking for easy victims, adrenaline floods Joe's system, his fingers itching for a gun.

Before he can ask Hannah what happened to his weapon, she makes a sharp turn into a street on the right. 'Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.'

His whole body tenses. 'What is it?'

She glances in the rear-view mirror, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. 'That was the car from the woods. I remember the plate.'

He frowns, turning in his seat and allowing some relief to set in when no car follows them into the street. 'You think they're looking for us?'

'It can't be a coincidence,' she says, shaking her head. 'Either we're the target, or those two kids. In any case, we need to get off the street, _now_.'

She keeps driving a while longer, her gaze searching for a place they can spend the night at. Finally, she turns into a driveway and pulls up by a modest house with arched doorways and multicolored tiles, hanging porch lanterns casting a warm glow over the facade. 'This will have to do,' she says, more to herself than to him, before shutting the engine off and turning in her seat to retrieve the bag from the back.

'Okay,' she says, regarding his clothes with disapproval. 'Take your pants off.'

Despite the severity of the situation and his movements growing increasingly labored, Joe smiles, unable to help himself. 'If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.'

Hannah narrows her eyes at him, not even dignifying that with a response, and he has to press his lips together to refrain from laughing. She throws a pair of jeans at him and orders him to get out of the drab camouflage uniform pants that would undoubtedly raise unwanted attention. They're both without tactical gear anyway, courtesy of their little undercover sting at the village.

She slips on a colorful top with tassels over her nondescript grey shirt, before helping him into a dark jacket, necessary to cover the bloody shirt underneath.

Giving him one final appraisal, she collects their belongings and gets out of the car, rounding the hood to help him out. 'We're American tourists looking to spend the night,' she says, bringing his arm around her shoulders again. 'How's your Spanish?'

He staggers out of the car, doing his best to keep most of his weight on his shaky legs. He clenches his teeth when a sharp bout of pain almost has him doubling over. 'I'd say about the same as your chest tube thoracostomy.'

'Great,' she sighs, helping him up the front porch. 'Just keep your mouth shut and smile. I'll find us a bed.'

Joe clutches at his chest, expression aghast. ' _The time and place_ , Rivera!'

She elbows him in the side, thankfully not the injured one, muttering something to herself, but he doesn't miss the corners of her mouth twitching.

Before she gets the chance to knock, the heavy wooden door springs open, and she slips into character in the blink of an eye.

Joe can't help but feel impressed. One moment she was a tough operative determined to keep them both alive, and the next she's a blushing young woman clinging to her partner.

A middle aged man looks them over with unhidden suspicion, and Hannah launches a friendly attack straightaway. Joe does his best to keep up appearances while she easily charms their prospective host, gritting his teeth and forcing a smile during their quick exchange in Spanish, which he would struggle to follow even if he wasn't concussed.

Finally, the man lets them in, and several moments later presents Hannah with a rusty key. She gives him one final warm smile and tugs Joe in the direction of the spiral staircase in the corner.

'Let's go, _marido_.'

He looks at her in confusion. 'Doesn't that mean _husband_?'

'It sure does,' she grins, offering no other explanation as their host's vigilant gaze follows them upstairs.

The climb apparently drains all of his remaining strength because the moment they get into their room he sags against the wall, sinking towards the ground after his legs finally give out. She catches him mid-fall, doing a poor job of hiding concern out of her voice. 'Hey, buddy, let's get you to a bed.'

He wants to tell her not to worry, but his words come out all mumbled, and it only makes her frown harder. She half carries, half drags him to the bed in the middle of the room, panting with the exertion as she lays him down on the squeaky spring mattress. The bed dips as she climbs next to him and lifts his shirt without hesitation, her lips set in a grim line when it reveals a blood-soaked improvised bandage.

He takes a deep breath, fighting to stay conscious, and forces himself to treat his own wound like he would anyone else's out in the field. 'You said something about a first aid kit?'

She jumps from the bed and rummages around the bag she dropped upon entrance, takes out a smaller bag with the distinct red cross on it.

He sighs in relief. ' _My hero_.'

-

She comes out of the tiny bathroom to find him holding his fingers against his carotid artery, measuring pulse in concentration.

She settles down on the bed next to him with a bowl of warm water and gauze from the med kit. 'What's the prognosis?'

'Pulse is weaker than I'd like, but I'll live.'

He lets her clean the wound, but she ends up more assisting than anything else once the sharp instruments come into play. His adept fingers make a quick work of the stitches, his unwavering focus leaving her impressed.

When he reaches for the gauze pads, she decides enough is enough. 'You medical people really are the worst patients, aren't you?' She teases, firmly pushing his hands out of the way.

'Maybe,' he admits with an unexpectedly self-conscious smile, leaning back against the headboard to give her space to work. As she begins covering and securing his wound, he looks at her with a surprisingly sober expression.

'You saved my life today, Hannah. Thank you.'

She reaches for the scissors, ducking her head to hide her smile. 'No problem.' His gratitude is appreciated, but there's no need for it. They are a part of a team, and teammates always have each other's back. 'You _are_ really heavy, though. What is it they feed you over there in Turkey?'

He barks out a laugh, forgetting himself and wincing from a bolt of pain in his side. 'Come on, you know it's all muscle.' For good measure, he flexes his, objectively speaking, perfectly sculpted abs.

She quirks an eyebrow. 'I'm holding scissors to your gut and you decide now's a good time to flirt?'

He grins, relaxing deeper into the pillow against his back and clasping his hands behind his head. 'Well, you haven't stabbed me, have you?.'

'The night is still young.'

-

She paces over the creaky floorboards, frown set firmly on her face.

His wound has been treated, and she even sat still long enough for him to take a look at the nasty scratch on her forearm. Now the time has come to figure out their next move.

'Tell me again,' he demands from the bed.

She glares at him, his impatience not mixing well with her rising frustration, but answers anyway. 'He said _we've been compromised, it's not safe_. Those were his exact words.'

'But what does that even mean?'

'Nothing good,' she runs her hands through her already messy hair. 'He hung up before I had the chance to, which means he thought the communication line was compromised as well, and I revealed our location by calling.'

He looks at her in surprise. 'You think what's going on in D.C. has to do with our mission?'

'I mean, we have to assume so,' she says, still pacing distractedly. 'Noah wouldn't have gone radio-silent otherwise.'

He can see the panic taking over her bruised body now that the adrenaline rush of the day is gone. And what a day it has been. An ambush in the Venezuelan woods, running away from unknown pursuers, losing contact with their team, and now Command leaves them high and dry as well.

Mindful of his freshly bandaged stomach, he slowly sits up, trying to grab her attention. 'Hannah, we need a plan.'

His words don't seem to register with her as she continues her frantic movements.

' _Rivera_ , take a deep breath and _think_. I may be a world-class combat medic and a charming delight, but we need you to get your special agent head working.'

That seems to finally get her out of her stupor. She skids to an abrupt halt by the window and blinks at him like she's seeing him for the first time, before falling back on her training without thinking. 'A safe location – check. Signal your people - that crashed and burned nicely. And the team could be hundreds of miles away for all we know.'

She lets out a humorless chuckle, eyes searching the darkness outside. 'I have two handguns, an earpiece that connects us to no one, and a medic who requires medical attention.'

He waves her concern off, but the effect is lessened when he grimaces from pain immediately after. 'It was just a bit of shrapnel. Give me a night to rest and I'll be good to go.'

That's when she snaps. 'Good to go _where_ , exactly? We're being hunted, for reasons unknown, we don't know what the hell is going on in D.C., we don't know where the rest of the team is, and we still have two American kids on the loose!'

He gives her a couple of moments to decompress, her chest rising and falling in a quick rhythm that slows down as he holds her gaze.

'I agree something's not right', he says quietly. 'But our destination is pretty obvious.'

She frowns at him in question, nose wrinkling when the answer dawns on her only a heartbeat later. ' _Caracas?_ '

'We either wait here like sitting ducks or we can be proactive about our situation.'

She gives him an incredulous look and draws the curtains with more force than necessary, finally moving away from the windows. 'And being proactive is crossing half of this volatile country in the hope that we bump into someone we know there?'

'Those kids are still out there, and for whatever reason hunted by enemies in full force. We may be the only ones who can help them, so we've got to at least try, and trust that the team will follow.'

She blinks at him, caught off guard. 'And what about Command?'

'You want to be sent into another ambush in the middle of nowhere? That should help.'

She looks at him sharply. 'Are you saying they sold us out?'

Fighting a sudden wave of dizziness, he lowers himself back against the pillows, rubbing his temples. 'I'm saying something's not right. And you know it.'

He expects her to argue, continue pushing and resisting the idea that someone at the agency screwed up badly, but she surprises him once again by letting her head fall back against the wall across the room, fight draining out of her body.

'You're right,' she sighs, eyes closing as she comes to terms with the situation.

When she finally meets his gaze head-on, there's nothing but unflinching determination in her hardened eyes.

In this small dimly lit room, cut off from D.C. and who knows how many miles away from their team, her words voice a painful yet necessary truth.

'We're on our own.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one write a single chapter and not let it grow into a 5k+ words monstrosity? Asking for a friend.
> 
> In all seriousness, let me thank you guys for your kudos and comments. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

_Maracaibo_

_Thursday_

 

There is a fleeting moment in which it feels like every other morning, her drowsy mind slowly waking up as she stretches out her muscles. Unusually bright rays of dawn make her raise her hand to shield her eyes, and that's when something moves next to her and startles her so hard that she almost falls out of the bed.

'What the hell are you doing?' A male raspy voice demands as she springs to her feet, her heart racing and her mind quickly catching up to speed.

Venezuela. Mission. Explosion. A shirtless Joseph in her bed.

Right.

She must have fallen asleep sometime in the early hours, once the exhaustion finally beat her reluctance to leave herself and a fast asleep Joseph unguarded. She regains her composure and runs her hands through her hair, pushing the curls out of her face. In the bed, he raises himself to his elbows, studying her with concern. His voice still full of sleep, he asks, 'You alright?'

She curses herself for showing even an inkling of weakness. It's just been a while since she regularly woke up in an unfamiliar environment, and even longer since she had a man in her bed.

'I'm fine,' she waves his concern off and heads towards the small bathroom, absolutely refusing to let her cheeks redden when she realizes that sometime during the stuffy night she decided pants were not necessary sleepwear.

When she comes back out, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, to her annoyance still bare-chested. 'You're sure you're alright?'

'Honestly, McGuire. I'm fine. Apparently a bit rusty, since I didn't expect to wake up in a sketchy room with a sketchy man.'

His mouth twitches in amusement. 'A sketchy man?'

She gives him a knowing look. 'I know about Seville, lover boy. Now come on, we need to get going.'

He winks at her before getting up from the bed, rolling his neck and doing a couple of shoulder stretches.  

She starts gathering their supplies back into the bag, irritated to find her gaze drawn to his moving muscles. 'And would you put on a shirt?'

He grins, his eyes dropping down her body for the first time. 'Only if you put on some pants.'

Right, Rivera, _the pants_.

-

Just as they finally enter Maracaibo, they have to stop for gas. Hannah pulls up to a small gas station and Joe insists on accompanying her to the store, claiming he's finally getting some food whether she likes it or not.

Once inside, he inspects the low-stocked shelves, willing to settle for anything that doesn't scream _gas station candy_ out of the poor selection of products. He picks out a couple of things and follows Hannah to the back of the store, where a young cashier is having an animated discussion with his co-worker.

Hannah comes up to the counter and, after a moment of deliberation, adds a large bag of Skittles to the pile.

' _Honey_ ,' Joe says in a low voice, 'maybe choose something more nutritious?'

Her eyes bore into him, even as she keeps her smile plastered on for the audience. 'I swear if you say your body is a temple I'll hit you in the face with that vitamin water.'

He chuckles and opens his mouth to argue against such unfounded accusations, but gets interrupted.

The guy behind the counter mutters loud enough for them to hear, _'Gran, más americanos.'_

Hannah is on him in the blink of an eye. _'Qué dijiste?_ ’

A short back-and-forth in Spanish later, Hannah slaps several bills on the counter and leads Joe out by his arm with a renewed sense of urgency.

'They were here, this morning.'

Joe looks at her in surprise, but instantly matches her long, decisive steps in the direction of the car. 'Peterson and Torres?'

'Yes, it has to be them. The description matches.'

She gets in the car and he follows right after, barely having the time to close the door before she's pulling away from the station.

'What's the plan?'

She manoeuvres their way around a motorcycle transporting four people, none wearing helmets. 'We're not far behind them, so that's good. We've got to find a way to reach Caracas fast,' she muses out loud, focused on the traffic. 'But, if someone's really looking for us, we're making it way too easy by just driving around in plain sight.'

Already dreading the answer, he asks, 'Got a better idea?'

'You know what, I think I do.'

-

'This doesn't seem like a better idea at all', he protests just loud enough for her to hear as they stand in the never-ending queue at the Maracaibo bus terminal.

Next to him, Hannah only hums in response. She's the essence of composure, her expression portraying vague boredom, but he sees her alert eyes scanning the area and analyzing potential threats. 

Without looking at him, she mutters, 'Can you at least attempt to look less American?'

He raises his brows. 'You think I'm actively trying to look American? How does one even _look_ American?'

She shakes her head, her mouth curving into a smile. 'Forget about it.'

He taps his foot against the cracked pavement and sighs. The dull pain in his side has returned to pester him, reminding him that he should take it easy after getting speared by debrief the day before. Around them, locals bustle about, everyone's movements affected by the heat that bounces off the wide streets even in the late afternoon.

Finally, a decades-old bus rounds the corner in a cloud of dust and jerks to a stop down the road.

They board the bus along with other impatient passengers, Joe getting a wary once-over from the driver in a rumpled Hawaiian shirt. They get a couple of curious glances on their way down the narrow aisle, too, but Hannah acts like she doesn't notice it at all. Somewhere towards the back of the bus they settle into seats dulled by the grime of many years.

Joe quirks a brow at her as if to ask, _you sure about this?_

She seemed convinced that their best shot at getting to Caracas is by a packed local bus, where any potential pursuers will be less likely to look for them. But now that they're about to start the long journey trapped in a vehicle full of strangers with practically no exits, he's growing increasingly restless.

She leans back into her seat, seemingly without a care in the world, and gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

The doors close with a gasp of air and the bus lurches on.

-

They drive for hours through sparsely populated areas, stopping every now and then on the outskirts of small towns and villages. The shaky bus jostles the ever-changing set of passengers back and forth, air conditioning whistling as the darkness grows outside.

Shortly after what feels like a millionth stop of the day, Joe sneaks his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to himself.

She tenses, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, 'What are you doing?'

He glances out of the window with practiced ease, although his clenched jaw tells her he's anything but nonchalant. 'I don't like the way that guy's looking at you.'

She fights the urge to roll her eyes and relaxes into him, mindful of the parts they have to play. Of course she noticed the man in the seat diagonal from her, and the hungry look on his face.

'He's harmless,' she says just for Joseph to hear, and rests her head on his shoulder. It makes her feel much more comfortable than it should. His arm is draped over her shoulders, and despite their miserable last two days, there's something about his scent that makes her want to come even closer. Appalled at herself, she squashes the thought down immediately, and redirects her focus back on the mission they're in the middle of.

As their journey progresses it starts raining heavily, drops of water streaking the windows and blurring the world outside. That’s the only reason why it takes them a second too long to react when the brakes squeak and everyone lurches forward as the bus comes to yet another stop.

Hannah assumes it's just a regular halt in their road trip, a chance for more gossiping grandmas and weary workers to hop on the ride. But then a man in full military gear appears at the beginning of the aisle, and orders everyone to line up outside for inspection.

Alright, so military checkpoints are something she forgot about in her hurry to catch up with the runaway kids. She places a warning hand on Joseph’s tense shoulder, trying to stop him from doing anything rash.

With a little bit of luck, they’ll just search the bags and intimidate a couple of passengers, and the bus will be on its merry way.

Her experience, however, tells her not to rely on something as fickle as sheer luck.

They follow the rest of the passengers into the night, everyone pulling at their clothes to shield themselves from the rain. Some are frightened, but most of them sport vaguely annoyed expressions, like they’re used to these kinds of situation by now.

Hannah and Joseph take their place at the end of the long line, everything muted by a staccato rhythm of heavy raindrops against the ground. Hannah takes one look at the situation and knows one thing for certain - Joseph is going to stick out like a sore thumb, being the highest by several inches and least Latino by miles.

He knows that too, judging by the way his whole body tenses in preparation for a fight as the soldier makes his way down the line, scrutinizing the passengers while his companions inspect the luggage compartment.

Hannah strains her ears, trying to make out their voices, and her stomach drops when she overhears two crucial words. American passports.

Time to get out of here, now.

Her mind races against the clock to figure out the least damaging way out of this situation, and just before she has to resort to reaching for the gun, the solution presents itself. The guys checking the luggage find something interesting, and call the one who’s been harassing the passengers over.

Hannah doesn’t waste a second longer. She grabs Joseph’s arm and pulls him away from the line and behind the nearest parked military truck. Raindrops ricochet off its metal frame, and the flickering street light reveals Joseph’s inquiring expression.

‘They’re looking for Americans specifically,’ she explains, leading him further away from the danger.

He glances behind his back, making sure they’re not followed. ‘You think they’re looking for _us_ specifically?’

‘I think it would be stupid to assume otherwise.’

They reach the end of the truck, and she stops to contemplate their next move. They are in the middle of nowhere, and apart from the small trailer where the soldiers are stationed and two trucks, there’s nothing else but the silent road and uninviting woods all around them.

The rain beats down heavily, and Hannah knows they need to get a move on, it’s only a matter of time before the soldiers realize they lost two passengers.

‘Don’t tell me we’re off to the fucking woods again,’ Joseph groans beside her, and she’s just about to confirm that yes, they’re off to the woods again, when an unsuspecting soldier hops out of the back of the truck and lands right in their path.

His eyes widen as he reaches for his firearm, opening his mouth to alert his companions.

'We don't have time for this,' Joseph mutters, and then has the assailant knocked out on the ground in one swift move.

‘Real subtle, Joseph,’ Hannah comments, but she doesn’t get to hear his response because someone grabs at her from behind, demanding to know where they think they’re going.

She loses her patience, turns around fast enough to catch the guy off guard and pins him to the side of the truck.

‘Who is looking for Americans?’ she demands, her nails digging into his throat.

The guy swallows hard, his eyes wide from panic. She increases the pressure, and he immediately caves in. ‘I do not know! Boss ordered last night that we must call if we find any American.’

‘And then what?’

‘Find Americans, get a prize, that is all I know, I swear!’

She bangs his head against the truck, hard enough to put him to sleep and prevent him from going after them. He drops to the ground mutedly, heavy rain finally being of use and masking all incriminating sounds. She steps away from his unconscious body and finds Joseph looking at her, his eyebrows raised high.

His expression turns into one of vague amusement. 'Alright, _Bond_ , what do you want to do next? We passed a town sign not too long ago.'

She nods, eager to leave this place behind them. 'Let's go.'

-

They’re both completely drenched by the time the signs of civilization appear in the distance. The rain hasn’t let up at all, and navigating their way through unfamiliar terrain in almost complete darkness reminds her too much of the similarly difficult stunt that all of this started with. God, was that only yesterday?

They weave their way around some tall bushes when a branch hits her in the back, and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip to stop herself from crying out in pain.

Somewhere in front of her, Joseph grumbles under his breath, ‘Why do we always end up stumbling through the woods? This mission is starting to get on my nerves.’

‘This is not a mission,’ she tells him, shivering from the cold. ‘This is a shitshow.’

He has no choice but to agree. ‘You got me there.’

The forest finally thins down, and they follow a narrow path that takes them alongside the edge of a quiet village. It has to be close to midnight, but there are still several lit windows on the houses they pass by.

She’s so done with the rain. They need to find cover and think their next move through, but she’s growing less and less confident that they’ll find any kind of accommodation in this place. She’s about to tell Joseph this, but she doesn’t get a chance to. He stumbles a few steps in front of her, and a very loud screech tears through the night just as she collides with his back.

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘What the-‘

Something black and small disappears into a nearby garden in a flash.

‘Did you just step on a cat?!’

‘How was I supposed to see a black cat in the middle of the night, Hannah?’

A porch light buzzes to life on the house up front, and the door springs open.

‘ _Hay alguien?_ ’ A short woman in her late fifties appears in the doorway, clad in a bright pink robe and armed with a broom, of all things. Her narrowed eyes land on the two of them, and Hannah can only imagine what they must look like, soaked to the bone and bickering in the middle of the night in front of some old lady’s house in Venezuela. The thought almost elicits a laugh out of her, but she manages to control herself and focus on the task at hand.

Like stop the woman from calling the police on them.

Hannah puts on her best damsel in distress act, slipping her arm around Joseph’s waist. She spins a story about how they’re newlyweds on a honeymoon who got into trouble with the scary men at the highway, and ran away.

The moment Hannah mentions the soldiers, the woman’s expression clears of all suspicion. _Corrupt bastards_ , she says, shaking her head, and invites Hannah and Joseph into her house.

One exchanged glance later, they take the woman up on her offer and let her usher them inside. All of Hannah’s worries dissipate the second the woman closes the door, leaving the freaking monsoon behind them.

A male voice calls from upstairs, asking what’s going on, and the woman tells him not to worry as she leads Hannah and Joseph into the kitchen and starts rummaging around the cupboards.

‘We don’t want to inconvenience you, Ma’am,’ Joseph tells her bashfully, charm practically dripping from his words, an admirable feat considering he’s also dripping water all over the woman’s hardwood floors.

The woman beams before brushing away his concern with unexpected authority. ‘No inconvenience! You must be hungry after so much walking.’

As she fills up their plates she introduces herself as Maria, and proceeds to tell them about her daughter who’s living in the States, and the two grandkids who call her every Sunday. She asks about their honeymoon, and Joseph entertains her with a surprisingly believable story about their alleged mishap at the Angel Falls waterfall.  

‘It’s her fault, really. She just can’t keep her hands off me,’ he finishes the sickeningly romantic story, giving Hannah a mock-disapproving look. The second Maria turns her back on them, Hannah kicks him in the shin.

‘Who can blame you, dear,’ Maria then winks at her from the stove, making her plaster on a debatably convincing smile while Joseph struggles to keep his face straight.

She kicks him again for good measure.

Once Maria is finally convinced that they won’t starve to death, she leads them upstairs, shows them the guest room and points in the direction of the bathroom and clean towels. Joseph apologizes once again for the trouble they’ve caused, and the woman pats his forearm before proclaiming that someone’s waiting for her and excusing herself with a wink.

That’s how Hannah and Joseph find themselves alone in a dimly lit hallway in a complete stranger’s house. After some deliberation, Hannah turns towards the bathroom, about to suggest that he goes in first, but he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

‘You’re bleeding.’

She snaps her head back, trying to see what he’s talking about, but he’s already pushing her into the tiny bathroom, shutting the door behind them and searching for the light switch.

The light flickers on just in time for her to catch her reflection in the small mirror above the sink, sees the bloody tear in in her shirt right above her shoulder blade. Must be a souvenir from their trek through the woods.

‘Let me see,’ Joseph demands, reaching for the hem of her sleeve. On instinct, she jerks away from his hands, turning around and bumping into the edge of the counter behind her.  

He gives her an odd look. ‘Hannah, we really don’t have time to deal with an infection, I need to see how deep it is.’

Closing her eyes, she knows he’s right, and, honestly, at this point she’s too exhausted and too drenched to feel insecure about the scars on her back. He’s a combat medic, for God’s sake. If he can’t handle it, then no one will.

‘Fine. We’re doing this,’ she says, and before she can lose her nerve, takes the whole shirt off.

At this point he’s just looking at her with a slight frown, aware that he’s missing something. Although she’s standing before him in just her bra, his gaze never strays from her eyes.

‘I’m going to show you something, but we’re not making a big deal out of it because I’m exhausted and soaked and honestly over all of this.’

Without waiting for his confirmation, she takes a deep breath and turns her back on him.

Having shut her eyes and counted to three, she looks over her shoulder to gauge his reaction. For what it’s worth, he gives nothing away, his tightened jaw the only sign of disconcertment.

‘Who did this?’ he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

‘Martin Urzua.’ She’s surprised herself to notice that her voice carries only traces of all that long-residing anger and bitterness. Emboldened by that realization, she gathers her wet strands of hair on one side of her neck and orders him to get a move on.

‘Come on, patch me up and let’s be done with it. I don’t want to spend any more time than necessary in these wet clothes.’

She knows he’s really taking this seriously when he misses the opportunity to jokingly suggest she takes them off right now. Instead, he gently guides her to the edge of the bathtub, tells her to sit as he retrieves the half-drenched med kit from her bag.

She sits on the edge of the bathtub, lost in thoughts, as he deftly cleans the wound. After the day they’ve had, they’re both comfortable to let silence fill this tiny bathroom.

After a while, Hannah finally speaks. 'Okay, so I think our best bet is to find someone local to drive us in the morning. Maybe even ask Maria if she knows anyone that can help us get to Caracas safely.'

'Seems reasonable.' After a moment, he adds, slightly hesitant, 'If they've got everyone looking for Americans, do you think-'

'That Peterson and Torres don't stand a chance?' She finishes the question for him, then rubs her face as she contemplates her answer.

'Not necessarily. I mean, they managed to escape whoever kidnapped them. They were alive this morning. It looks like they know a thing or two about surviving.'

'Let's hope you're right.’ He covers her wound with a strip of gauze and secures it with a band aid. ‘Alright, you're done.'

'Thanks,' she says, standing up and facing him again.

His gaze is softer than it's been throughout this whole crazy mission, and she doesn't really know what do with that, so she turns the attention to him. 'How's your side holding up?'

'It's fine,' he dismisses her worry, like she hasn't noticed that it's been bothering him during the day.

She crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to stand down. 'Let's see, then.'

'You don't have to worry about it, Hannah. I'll just change the dressing.'

'Of course I have to worry about it, I'm the one who's going to have to drag your ass around if you faint again.'

He wrinkles his nose, resembling a petulant child more than a six-feet-two soldier. 'I didn't _faint_.'

Her mouth twitches. 'No, I'm sorry, you _swooned_.' And with that, she corners him against the sink and pulls his shirt up, revealing the bled-through bandage on his stomach.

She lifts her gaze and meets his eyes. 'This is what you call _fine_?'

He sighs in defeat, and reaches for the collar of his shirt to pull it off completely. 'It's nothing serious, just too much strain. Hand me that towel, would you?'

She helps him clean the blood and applies a new bandage, smooths the edges against his warm skin. He sucks in a breath, and she realizes her fingers must still be cold. 'Sorry.'

'Don't worry about it,' he says, a little breathless, before his voice catches on an amused tone. 'You do realize that we're in the middle of a highly dangerous mission, and at this point we've been bested by a piece of shrapnel and some bushes?'

That elicits a laugh from her. 'Well, lucky for me, I've got a medic at hand.'

His silence makes her look up to find him watching her with an unreadable expression. She's finished applying the bandage, but her hands are for some inexplicable reason still glued to his bare stomach. Breath caught in her lungs, she is suddenly dangerously aware of his proximity, the shift of his muscles under her fingertips sending an electrifying current down her spine. They are standing entirely too close to each other, gazes locked.

His mouth curves into a smile, slow and steady, and suddenly she can't quite remember why she thought both of them half-naked in this cramped bathroom was a good idea.

_The mission, Hannah. Get it together._

Before she can think of something, anything, to say, he beats her to it, clearing his throat.

'We should get some sleep while we still can. Who knows how many bushes we have to face tomorrow.'

She pokes him in the side in retaliation, and his laughter fills up the small space, definitely _not_ making her warm inside. Before she can think better of it, she finds herself responding, ‘Wouldn’t want to get _ambushed_.’

He shakes his head, his grin wide. ‘Alright, Rivera, you win.’

The balance now restored, that weird exhilarating moment stays behind them as they leave the bathroom. Hannah is ready to attribute it to the stress of the last two days, ignoring the traitorous pang of disappointment.

No one is laughing just moments later, when they finally enter the guest room and find themselves surrounded by an alarming amount of crosses and creepy Jesus paintings.

Joseph takes in the eccentric decorations with a frown, before his gaze lands on the obvious hitch in their plan.

‘That is a single bed.’

Hannah can’t help but smile at his apprehension. ‘Yeah, it is.’

He continues staring at the piece of furniture in question, frowning as he weighs his options. ‘Well, I can-‘

She arches a brow. ‘Don’t tell me a decorated Army Sergeant is afraid to share a bed with a girl?’

He finally looks at her, amused. ‘A girl? No. A highly trained killer who’ll strangle me during the night if I make a wrong move? Yes.’

‘Then don’t make a wrong move, lover boy.’

He winces. ‘Can we stop with that nickname?’

‘Nope.’

-

When she comes back to the room, finally mostly dried up, she has to stifle a laugh at the scene in front of her. He’s lying on his back on the bed, as much to the side as he can, but he’s so stupidly large that it looks like he’s stuck in a bed made for toddlers. _Can’t bring him anywhere_ , she thinks, and almost laughs at that too.

She takes a deep breath and shuts the lights off before tiptoeing over the cold tiles to the bed. Absolutely refusing to make this more awkward than necessary, she climbs under the covers and lays on her back leaving as much space between them as possible. Which is – almost none. His thigh burns against her knee, and his scent is still so inviting that it almost makes her angry.

She ignores the rise and fall of his muscly bare chest, choosing to focus on the rain tapping against the window in the corner of the room instead. She has just managed to find a semi-comfortable position, when a muffled moan makes them both freeze.

What follows are the unmistakable sounds of a sixty-year-old woman having fun with a gentleman in the room across the hall.

Joe sighs, staring straight at the ceiling. ‘This is officially the weirdest mission I’ve ever been on.’

Once again, a giggle followed by a low moan.

‘Good for her,’ Hannah comments, enjoying Joe’s obvious discomfort.

‘Please stop,’ he says, a little pained.

She lifts her head, intrigued. ‘What? The medic is embarrassed by natural human reproduction?’

‘This brings up traumatic memories.’

She props her head up in the palm of her hand. ‘Oh, now you’ve got to tell me.’

He sighs, but divulges the information nonetheless. ‘Last time I was on leave, I decided to surprise my mom by appearing at the doorstep without calling. As you can probably guess, I was the one in for a surprise, because when she opened the door, the local sheriff, Tom, was leaving her bedroom. In his underwear.’

A laugh escapes her, and he gives her the side-eye. She raises her hands. ‘Right, sorry. Traumatic childhood experiences and all.’ Grinning, she adds, ‘In your thirties.’

Under the covers, he kicks her jokingly with his foot, but she only grins harder.

Suddenly, a thought crosses her mind. ‘You didn’t kill the poor man, did you?’

‘No, of course not,’ he brings his arm under his head, smiling. ‘He makes her happy. And God knows she deserves it.’

She presses her lips together to hide her smile. Loving son is definitely a good look on him.

‘Also, Tom arrested me when I was fourteen. He let me go two hours later with a stern talking-to and a pat on the back, but those kinds of things stay with you.’

Hannah raises a brow, smirking. ‘What did a fourteen-year-old Joseph do to get himself arrested?’

‘I think it’s time to go to sleep,’ he says, dodging her question with the subtlety of a hand grenade. He adjusts the pillow under his head. ‘Got a long way to go tomorrow.’

She turns her back to him, yawning as she sinks into the pillow. ‘Don’t think we’re done talking about this.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ he murmurs, making her smile.

‘Hey, Hannah?’

‘Mhm?’

If she wasn’t already half asleep, his hand on her bare shoulder would make her jump. However, her subconscious has already taken over, and that traitor leans into the touch when he sweeps his thumb just above one of the scars. ‘Thanks for trusting me with this.’

‘It’s not a big deal,’ she hears herself responding. ‘I mean, it shouldn’t be, right?’

‘It’s as big of a deal as you need it to be,’ he says, uncharacteristically serious. ‘But I’m glad you showed me.’

‘Thanks for not being a dick about it.'

He chuckles. ‘I’m not sure that’s something you should be thanking people for.’

She settles deeper into the pillow, her subconscious growing irritated at constant interruptions. She mumbles, ‘Take the compliment and go to sleep, McGuire.’

The last thing she hears is the smile on his lips. ‘As you wish, Ma’am.’


End file.
